RPlog:Something's Going To Get You
The dimly lit cantina was a setting stage for many a conversation between Raxis and his fellow pilots of Ghost Squadron, and today was no different. Seated over a glass of iced tea, Raxis sits across from a striking red-headed pilot near the center of the bar as he shares words with her. Motioning with his hand towards his datapad, he can't help but grin. "So...you're probably going to roll your eyes at this Sparks, but there's a rumor of some kind of creature in space attacking a few freighters in this system. I signed us up to patrol and take a look at it." He adds, motioning to the bartender. "I tossed the tender a few credits to keep his ears open for us, but as weird as it may sound we have to patrol Ord Mantell, and even look after the ridiculous claims." Because of the hour, the door to the cantina remains mostly closed. Because of this, when it opens, it is likely to draw more attention to the people that enter. Though this would probably be true, anyway, because the "people" that enter would probably draw attention to themselves in any situation. This isn't Tattooine, after all. The first figure pauses on the threshold, backlit so that for a moment, his front is cast in shadow and only his outline can be seen...and quite a strange outline it is, too, with strange tentacular protrusions waving around the head as though in a gentle breeze. After a moment, however, he begins to amble into the room with a strange, rolling gait, leaning heavily to his left side. Taking no notice of the patrons, he heads straight to the bar, pounding a fist on the bartop. "One bottle o' yer finest ale, never mind the expense! Tonight we're drinkin' the best," Jack says, slumping onto the chair and straightening his rather precarious hat, "it's only fittin' ter honor the passing o' our great friend." The door begins to swing closed behind Salty Jack when a foot is hastily jammed into the narrowing space and kicks it open again. The foot is followed by a shoulder, and then the rest of a Mon Calamari enters, laden down with various objects: a picture of a twi'lek, a box of sea salt crackers, and a crudely drawn figure of a strange-looking blue bird. "Yes, let thar be ale! Ale for the whole bar!" Bill exclaims loudly, dumping the belongings onto a table near the entrace. "We shall mourn the loss of our bonny Polly, lost to the creature of the black!" Rebecca face turns skeptical as Raxis starts his proposal. After hearing about another one of his adventures, she figured he'd drag her along on some crazy adventure when he sniffed one out. And lo and behold...then her grey eyes shift to the newcomers as they enter the bar, then slides them back to Raxis and sips her drink before responding. "Uh huh." A wry grin then plays across her lips. Lifting an eyebrow ever so slowly as the two strange humanoids pass their table, Raxis mouths 'creature of the black?' to Rebecca as he slowly turns in his chair to regard the shambling men. Watching fora moment, his curiosity is peaked as he rises from his chair and motions for Rebecca to follow him. Walking slowly to the bar, he accepts a mug of ale handed to him by the tender, courtesy of the Cat's Claw's new tenants. "Excuse me sirs..." Raxis says, clearing his throat. "...could you tell us about this creature and where it could be found?" The bartender doesn't seem phased by the strange creatures suddenly demanding ale...or at least, not overly so. Instead, he simply grins, shakes his head and pulls out a rather large bottle of amber liquid, plopping it on the bar and beginning to lay down some glasses. Jack watches until he is satisfied that his orders are being followed, then turns to his companion and gestures to the bar. "Put those down, Bill, afore ye go droppin' 'em and smashin' 'em ter bits. Polly don't deserve that!" His voice is slightly choked, and as he turns to the man who addresses him and hears his words, he clenches his fist and cries, "Ye want ter hear about the creature o' the black? The great monster wi' arms that c'n rip apart a ship like it were paper, and a great gaping maw enou' ter swallow it whole? Ye's braver than some, me hearty, but old Jack's gettin' first crack at that thing, ye c'n bet on that!" After dumping the objects on the table, Bill arranges them as neatly as possible. It is clear from the way he moves that the calamari has likely been drinking all day, drowning his sorrows in mugs and mugs of grog. The box of crackers is broken open and the pirate extends the box towards Raxis. "It be a horrible creature, sent from the Spirit of Darkness to devour all who dare tresspass in the Region of the Unholy Pox! Me warned ye not to go there, Jack. Me warned ye! It be cursed space! If we still had a ship me would mutiny!" His voice breaks, and the calamari shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Captain! I am just so upset! You are my most faithful friend." He sits down at the table and puts his head in his hands. Rebecca follows Raxis up to the bar, her hand clasped around a snifter of Corellian Whiskey. The amber liquid rolls and slides around smoothly in the glass as she moves with an elegant grace. Then she quietly listens to the conversation soaking up details from the two most unusual characters. "Uhhh...." Raxis begins to say, looking at the box of crackers quizzically for a moment. Truth in all, taking a cracker from this Mon Calamari is that last thing he'd like to do, but he decides he'd rather take one and not eat it more. Hesitantly, he takes a cracker from the box. "...uhm...yes I'd like to hear about thar..the...creature of the black with the arms and the maw" Raxis says, sipping his ale and sets the cracker down on the bar, using his drinking to mask the fact that he'd just set it down. "We're assigned to patrol the sector and if there's a threat, it's our job to end this threat." "MUTINY?!?" The Captain turns to Bill, as though Raxis hasn't even spoken, grabbing his shirt by the collar and sticking his face up close to his first mate's. "So that's what this 'as come to, eh? I shoulda left ye in the drink when I 'ad the chance! Ye couldn't mutiny yer way outta an X-Wing! And enou' o' yer 'Spirit o' this' and 'Deity o' that' nonsense! Yer superstitious twaddle'll get ye into a heap o' trouble one day, and that trouble might be wi' me!" His hooked tentacle swings dangerously close to Bill's one good eye, point gleaming dully in the low light of the Cantina. "Ye see?" he says to the man who addressed him, "This is what comes o' yer interest in that monster. It addles yer brain and ye start speakin' in tongues! We only barely escaped it, and o' course we were only close enough ter get dropped on this blasted planet wi' more rules 'n' regulations'n the Imperial Academy!" Barnacle Bill's chair is knocked backwards and the calamari is held upright only by the Captain's forceful arm. "Please, me said me was sorry!" he squeals in protest, turning his head away in an attempt to distance his remaining eye from the quarrens hooked tentacle. "Not me other eye! Please! Bill begs ye! I lost me mind! Didn't know what I was saying! The Pox got me!" Barnacle Bill hangs limply, having learned from many such encounters that this was the best course of action. Fighting might cause the captain to snatch out his eye! Rebecca's eyes narrow and her hand casually slips to her blaster at the mention of the Imperial Academy. Then grasps it firmly as violence threatens to bubble over. "Hey!" She half shouts. "Put him down or we'll throw you in the brig, and sort out this mess at a later time." She shoots Raxis a chilling stare for getting her mixed up with two insane beings who must've spent /waaaay/ to much time in space. "Yes...Captain let the man down he's just a little spooked." Raxis says, offering to crash drinks against each other to continue the conversation. "We're assigned to investigate this threat, so if you could just tell us where you encountered this...anomaly, we'll be sure to go and destroy it so that you two gentlemen could be on your way." Raxis says, mostly convinced at this point that the local trade pirates were getting creative in their shipjackings. "What do you say? Satisfied that Bill is thoroughly apologetic, Jack lets go his grip on his shirt, letting out a loud sigh as he mombles something about where Bill's supposed pox is located. He seems to be very changable in his moods, because as soon as he's dealt with that, he turns to Rebecca and gies her a small grin, "Not ta worry, lass. Ol' Jack wouldn' do anythin' ter hurt his first mate. Ye'll not be needing that," he says, waving a nonchalant hand at her blaster, "not ter worry." He then turns to the persistant man, and continues, "We were headed ter Nar and we got blown outta hyperspace somewhere 'round this planet. But ye'll be needin' more'n you two ter handle this beastie, mark my words." Bill is half-dropped onto his toppled chair when the captain releases the grip on his shirt. With a little bit of scuffling about to regain his balance, Bill bounces back to a standing position, nodding at all that Jack says. "After dropping out'er hyperspace, somethin' grabbed the Freedom Fish, started squeezing it like it twere squeezin the life out of it. Thar were noises like the dead twere to make crawling out of the bottom of the sea. Creakin' and crackin'. T'was terrible! Jack and Bill were able to make it to an escape pod, but our Polly, dear Polly, did not make it." It is here that the calamari lifts his eyepatch and dabs at it with the tail of the bandana on his head and picks up a cracker, shoving it into his mouth thoughtfully. "Flying away in the pod, we saw the black beast, surely a spirit of the blackness, coming for the unfaithful for punishment." Here, he shoots an accusing eye towards the captain, but remains quiet. Rebecca's stern expression remains but her shoulders relax slightly, though her hand still remains on the butt of her blaster. She doesn't trust anyone who casually throws around references to the Empire, especially on the New Republic's new homeworld. Then she shrugs away the comment about needing additional forces. "Raxis and I are capable fighter pilot's, and the firepower of the New Republic X-Wing's are not to be underestimated, or her pilots." Her voice is flat and unemotional, lending credence to her words that these two were very capable of handling threats. Nodding in response to Rebecca, Raxis continues nodding as he turns to the two troubled souls. Sipping his ale again, and placing it down on the bar, Raxis pulls out a datapad and begins to take notes. "We have more than just us at our disposal gentlemen. We're the New Republic Star Ops and this sector's defense is very important. After all, should there be a threat you'd surely like it not to come planetside would you?" He asks, daring a lifted eyebrow at Bill, hoping the slight bit of prodding would be enough to give them a start. "Now if you two gentlemen could give me your names and last known coordinates...or a general description of nearby spacial landmarks we'll be on our way to let you two mourn the loss of Polly." The Quarren reaches for the bottle of ale and one of the glasses, beginning to pour a generous measure into it. He passes the first one to his companion, as though in a gesture of peace, then begins to fill the others. He passes the next one to Raxis, and then the third to Rebecca, giving her a wink that would perhaps be considered saucy if it weren't coming from a raggedy Quarren. "I hope ye do, fer yer sakes, me hearty. This creature's not ter be trifled wi'. As fer names, I'm Captain Jaqen H'gar, but ye c'n call me Jack, or Salty Jack as ye prefer. This'n here's me first mate, Billious Qarrack. As ter our coordinates, that I don't rightly know, ye'd have ter ask Bill. But surely ye can't be thinkin' o' leavin' 'til ye've drunk ter Polly's memory wi' us old squids. We want ter give 'im a right proper send off." "I'd be glad to tell ye where we were, but Bill would need to check his computer. Blast it, if it weren't eaten by that thing! All me knows is that we were somewhere tween here and Shaddaa when it happened. Threw me off me feet, halfway across the poop, and when the squeezin' started, Bill is no fool, me ran for the lifepods, signalin’ the alarm to all me passed." The calamari shrugs in sadness, taking the cup from Salty_Jack, lifting it in a toast to those gathered, and dumps the drink down his gullet. "Ah, Polly, me bucko, ye were me friend and parrot. Ye will be sorely missed!" Rebecca shakes her head to the proffered drink. "I have my own thanks." Then she takes a sip of her whiskey as it's the only liquor she touches. Her grey eyes stay focused on the Quarren and her other hand remains firmly on the butt of her blaster. She shoots Raxis another incredulous look, like they can't be serious. Lifting the glass, Raxis mentally begs to not let the alcohol be poisoned, and smiles to the two. "To Polly." He says, tilting the glass back and taking the liquor into his mouth. Slamming his fist down on the bar, he mimics a burning throat and chases it down with his ale. Only...instead of swallowing the drink, he merely releases the contents of his mouth into the dark mug of ale. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He slaps the bartop with his hand and slides the mug to the bartender. "I'm done with that," He says, waving his datapad at the two strange men. "Now you two sit tight and if you leave, let the tender know where your rooms are. We'll let you know if we find the Freedom Fish. C'mon Sparks, let's saddle up." "Thank ye, matey," Jack says, and his voice is once again choked with emotion as he downs his own glass in one long swallow, seeming to have no similar qualms about its dubious nature. He sets down the glass with a loud thump, and there are tears in his eyes, though probably for a different reason than anyone else who drinks that ale. "Yer a good man. Polly woulda liked ye," and he turns to Rebecca, "And don' worry, lass, 'tis not fer everyone, this ale. Don' feel too bad." He chuckles, obviously misreading her hesitance in partaking in their rather strange libations. "We'll be here," he says, knocking his fingers against the bartop, "'r else ye c'n ask the barkeep 'n' he'll give ye a way ter contact us."